


plenty

by weekends



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Guilt, Pining, clint's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekends/pseuds/weekends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate sleeps over and Clint dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	plenty

"Clint--" she gasps, hair falling around his face in tendrils. Lilacs and sweat, it's all Clint knows right now. Her perfume and their sweat, and the feel of her around him, moving, softly gasping. He doesn't remember how any of this began -- hell, he barely remembers anything; at this moment, the only thing he knows (worships, venerates, lov--) is Kate.

"Jesus, Katie," Clint grunts and shifts his hips, allowing her a better angle, "you're gonna kill me."

She smirks -- "you too old for this, Barton?" -- and mouths a bruise to his neck. Clint's world blurs and it's so good, it feels so good, how is this even possible. She sits back up and rolls her hips torturously slowly, and holy God, Clint isn't going to survive this.

"Kate -- _Kate, fuck_."

All she does is lean back, head tipped to the skies. His hands rest on her hips; he'll wait for her, he'll follow her, he'll do anything for her except give her up, stay away and never see her again so he doesn't fuck up and ruin her just like everything else in his life. She reaches for him; her hand turns his head, forcing him to look at her. Katie knows him enough that her eyes soften -- _she knows, she knows, she knows_ \-- and it's like she gives him permission this one time to hold on to her.

When she really starts moving, Clint tries to hold on but the way she feels around him, the gasps of air that carry just the slightest edge of her voice, and the lilacs, always lilacs, enveloping them like some drunken haze. Everything about her is overwhelming and Clint knows he is so unworthy of being _someone_ to her.

"Clint, I'm close," her mouth open, eyes screwed tight, " _Fuck_ , Cl--"

Clint wakes up with a gasp. He swears under his breath -- fuck, shit, _shit_. The smell of lilacs still invades his senses and Clint realises he is painfully hard.

A soft snore sounds and that's when Clint remembers Kate's sleeping over. She's sleeping in his bed, ruining it with her warmth and fragrance and Clint knows he's not going to be sleeping peacefully in that bed for weeks. He can't even sleep on the couch without dreaming of her, he's so fucking screwed, so _stupid, Barton, why can't you just ignore a few feelings dammit._

He stumbles to his bathroom -- almost trips on the her quiver lying on the ground -- and locks the door. In here, there are no lilacs, just generic brand soap and dollar store shampoo, but it doesn't stop Clint from imagining sharp blue eyes and soft dark hair as he wraps a hand around himself. The hard plane off her stomach, -- last week, Kate reached for the sugar on the top shelf -- the flush across her face, -- Kate refuses to accept that she gets embarrassingly tipsy after one drink -- the elegant slope of her neck, turning around for her to deliver a snarky one liner or just a cold hard stare.

_Hell, Barton, you are_ so _fucked._ He tries his best to muffle his groans as he finally jerks himself off, picturing Kate smirking down on him -- _told you you wouldn't be able to keep up with me,_ she'd say.

He cleans up and trudges back to the couch, feeling like shit -- _Did you just jerk off to your nineteen year old protege, Clint?_ \-- and crashes back to sleep.

In the morning, he's woken up by the smell of coffee and Kate stubbing her toe on the kitchen bench and swearing loudly.

"This has happened too many times, _stupid_ bench," she mutters and goes back to rifling through his cupboards looking for that pink-label pain in the ass aka Lucky's dog food because _pizza can't wholly constitute a healthy canine diet, Clint._

He listens to her know how everything works -- where the dog food is, the second place dog food would be in, knowing to avoid a certain electricity outlet because it's dodgy. She knows as well as he does, perhaps better, and Clint can't ever lose her; he'll need to survive on fleeting touches and those rare moments, pine after her like some over-dramatic Man In Love in those classic operas she drags him to ("let's appreciate art instead of fighting bros today"). And Clint's fine with that, really. He's okay because Kate's here.

Kate is here with him, and that's plenty.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sad about these two and i just needed to get this off my chest because i'm so sad about these two.


End file.
